


In These Cold Times

by pagerunner



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode 64, hints at vaxleth and perc'ahlia if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/pseuds/pagerunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after their return from Draconia, Percy goes seeking a place to sort out his thoughts -- and finds a friend instead. Spoilers through episode 64.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In These Cold Times

The night of their return from Draconia, Percy found himself wandering the castle.

It was late, far past any sensible hour to be awake. The others had long since retreated to their rooms, some singly, some not, to find whatever fitful sleep they could. Percy’s mind was still full of what he’d seen, and there was no real rest to be found. At last he did as he used to here in such troubled states of mind—back when his troubles were so much smaller, not that he’d known it at the time.

He made his way down the corridors to the castle’s library, where even now, years later, there was always a light left burning.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” he murmured as he moved toward the flickering lamp she'd lit. To his surprise, though, he wasn’t alone in its pool of light, and he stopped a few paces away, regaining his bearings.

“Gilmore,” he said, making the other man’s head lift. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Ah, Percival. Good evening.” The merchant wizard grinned expansively, if somewhat crookedly. “Or middle-of-the-gods-forsaken-night, I suppose.”

Percival nodded, returning the smile more faintly, and looked him over. He was dressed casually, for Gilmore: simple but richly colored robes, soft slippers, very little jewelry. He was sitting in one of the deep, plush chairs along the westernmost wall, surrounded by carefully selected books. He looked as though he’d been deep in research all night. When he made to stand up, Percy gently waved him down.

“No need. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was only surprised not to find myself alone.”

“Ah, well. Given the current state of my lodgings”—his nose wrinkled, and Percy remembered—“your sister’s invited me to stay a while. I’ve been availing myself of your family’s library while I’m here. Especially since we became aware of how much useful material you have.”

Percy frowned and turned where he stood, scanning the shelves. “I have to say, Gilmore, I read most of the books here more than once as a child, but I don’t remember there being many about magic. Certainly not on the level you’d require.”

“You still have the right of that. We believe some were…contributed…by Lady Delilah.”

Percy went very still. Gilmore answered with a grimly resigned shrug.

“An unfortunate provenance, to be sure. But under these circumstances, any and all sources of knowledge may prove useful to the cause.”

Percy watched him a moment longer. “I understand the notion. I also understand the risks.”

“I imagine you do.”

“Well, then.” Percy rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath the frames of his glasses. “I suppose in that case I should leave you to your reading.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Gilmore set aside his book and gestured to the other chair. “Please, take a seat. It’s your home, after all; I’m merely an interloper.” He paused, regarding Percy more seriously. “And it’s been a hell of a day for all of us, I know. Seems a bad time to go wandering off alone.”

“Says the man who’s been up here reading a necromancer’s forbidden tomes all by himself.”

Gilmore spread his hands, smiling again. “At least that situation has mended itself, now hasn’t it?”

Percy gave a wry little laugh before he surrendered and sat beside Gilmore. The chairs were angled toward each other, a locked cabinet against the wall between them and a small table within easy reach. Gilmore had covered most of it with books and notes, but there was a little room left. Percy eyed it, then the cabinet. It was Gilmore who broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m not surprised you’re not sleeping, to be honest,” Gilmore said, leaning back in the chair. “I’d be surprised if anyone in your company is getting much rest tonight.”

“So you’ve heard what happened.”

“Some part of it.” Gilmore’s expression was calm, but his voice still held distinct sympathy. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Percy sat silently a long while before saying, “Thank you.” He went quiet again to collect his thoughts, and found himself rubbing his temple before simply leaning against his hand. “I think I was…prepared for it, really. It felt like an old pain reawakened more than a surprise.”

“And the others?”

“Grog went to Pike to give her the news. I lost track of Scanlan, but I imagine whatever he was up to involved drinking. Or singing deliberately ridiculous songs. Or both.” He shook his head. “Keyleth…she took it especially hard. I saw her slip off earlier—I’m sure I know where…”

Percy couldn’t keep a sardonic note from his voice, but then he remembered his audience, and he stopped. Gilmore hadn’t outwardly reacted much, but something in the cant of his head, the subtle lift of his eyebrows, indicated he’d reached the same conclusion.

Percy winced. “My apologies. That was graceless of me.”

“Oh, no. I’d very much hope she would have Vax’s company.” Gilmore smiled, if sadly. “Your Keyleth is a kind soul. It’s a sorrow to see her grieving. I hope she can find some respite there.”

“So do I.” Percy looked at his hands. “I’m afraid I was poor comfort, myself.”

“How so?”

Percy turned his thoughts over and over, but found no good way to present them. At last, he considered Gilmore. He wasn’t a neutral party, exactly, but he was still somewhat outside the group, a fairer judge than most. Percy said at last, “I fear sometimes I’m too cold for them. Calculating. I saw him—I recognized Tiberius—up on that spike, and I didn’t even _tell_ them, not in the moment. I ensured we finished our negotiations first, secured our position. If it hadn’t been safe to remove any of the dragon’s kills, I might never have said a word.” Percy stared off into the distance. “It was necessary. But it was anything but kind. And he was family.”

Gilmore didn’t reply right away. When he did, his voice was quiet and somber but steady.

“All groups need their tacticians,” Gilmore told him. “If you’re carrying guilt over your position, that’s folly. You, my clever friend…you know as well as I that detachment in such times has its purpose. If your encounter today had fallen into dispute or rancor…” Gilmore gave another expressive shrug. “Well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

“No, we would not. Yet I’m surprised to hear you say it.”

“Why’s that?”

One corner of Percy’s mouth lifted. “I confess it’s odd to get counsel of restraint,” he said, “from a man of such evident passions.”

Gilmore let out a startled but genuine laugh. “Oh, my heart’s that much on my sleeve, is it?”

“About some things, at least. We’ve long suspected you of keeping interesting secrets.”

“And you would not be wrong. But what man doesn’t hold a few hidden truths, after all?”

That cut a little close. Percy shifted where he sat. “Few of us, I’m sure.”

Gilmore eyed him, then took a deep breath. He began running his fingertips back and forth along the chair’s arm as he spoke. “Well. I don’t know whether you’re looking for reassurance or accusation, Percival, but I can’t fault you for considering strategy before emotion. Someone must, and I’m not surprised it was you.”

“It…hasn’t always been me.”

“I know. But you have changed.” He propped his chin on his fist, looking Percy over. “And just because you may be handling a friend’s death differently than others doesn’t mean you haven’t changed enough.”

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that.” He didn’t mean to continue, but the words slipped out regardless. “Not all deaths I’ve faced have been alike. Some have cut so deeply…”

Even sitting here in his father’s library, the heart of his childhood home, he found in the moment he said it that it was Vex’s face he saw. Percy swallowed hard.

“But how much of that was selfishness, not sympathy?” he finished roughly.

“Ah, my dear Percy.” Another smile, this one subtly melancholy, crossed Gilmore’s face. “I suspect that’s an entirely different sort of question.”

And it was, damn him. Percy looked away. “Meanwhile,  _I_ suspect I’m far too sober to continue this conversation.”

He reached back toward the lower doors of the cabinet. Gilmore watched in curiosity as Percy ran his fingers along the top edge, testing it. He’d never had a key; his father had kept it hidden. But he’d worked out the trick to it once after Oliver dared him to break in, and if he could still hit the door just right—

“Ah- _hah_ ,” he said a moment later, as the door jarred open. To his satisfaction, one of the things he’d hoped for was still present and accounted for. “Looks like our usurpers didn’t deplete the entire supply.”

When he pulled out a bottle of rich amber liquid, marked with the seal of Whitestone’s greatest distillery, Gilmore’s dark eyes went round.

“Is that—“

“The last of my father’s stock, I imagine,” Percy answered. “And the last you’re liable to find anywhere, since the distillery was left in rubble years back.” He tilted the bottle in Gilmore’s direction. “Technically I should consult my sister, but since I doubt very much that Cassandra would mind, or frankly even notice…”

“It _is_ an apropos occasion.”

“I’m glad you agree with me.”

Percy found two glasses from the cabinet, set them on that empty space on the table, and popped open the bottle. The heady scent struck him all in a rush, and Percy shut his eyes at the vivid sense memory: his father in this very chair, sipping a drink while reading the latest reports from the city business leaders and the lowlands beyond…

Percy took a deep breath, pushed all that aside, then focused tightly on the glasses, making a generous pour into each. Gilmore waited until Percy set aside the bottle and picked up his glass before he wrapped his fingers around his own tumbler. He took a deep, appreciative sniff.

“Something that must be said for the de Rolos, present company included,” Gilmore said. “You have _excellent_ taste.”

“Hah. In spirits, at least.”

“And I would also commend your taste in the company you keep, except…that would be boasting.”

Percy laughed at that. “Well. We’ve had some…lapses in judgment over the years, I’m afraid. But if we’re speaking of present company? You, and the others within these walls? It’s worth the praise.”

Gilmore bowed his head graciously. “To family, then.” He lifted his glass. “Those bound by blood, and those we’ve found…”

“And those we still remember.”

They both drank. Percy’s eyelids squeezed shut as he swallowed, a whole world of memories flickering through the darkness, but he opened them again soon after, staring ahead into the distance. Thinking of friends and losses and cold decisions, and the swoop of dragon’s wings.

In the end, he quietly thanked Gilmore and took his leave.

And although he didn’t know it, Gilmore watched his shadow as he went, sighed deeply, and capped the precious bottle closed.

The war was truly beginning, after all. He’d never say it to Percival on such a night, but he feared they’d all have need to toast the dead again soon enough.


End file.
